


Our Love Is Gone

by GloomyFinch



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Bisexual Veronica Sawyer, Drunk Veronica Sawyer, F/F, F/M, Ghost Heather Chandler, Heather Chandler Being an Asshole, Lesbian Heather Chandler, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23333539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloomyFinch/pseuds/GloomyFinch
Summary: Hello everyone! This is my first attempt at writing fanfic. I am obsessed with Heathers and felt the need to continue their story filtered through my personal view of the events that happened in canon. This work will explore Veronica's attempts at leaving the events of the senior year behind and creating a normal life for herself at Duke University while having to deal with the ghosts of her past, Heather Chandler's ghost to be more specific. The chapters will be written both from Heather's perspective and Veronica's and I'm also thinking about introducing more familiar faces down the line, but I am not quite sure about that. Hope you enjoy this first chapter and please give me your most honest feedback :)
Relationships: Heather Chandler/Veronica Sawyer, Veronica Sawyer/OC
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Our Love Is Gone

Chandler

After last year’s events, I decided to simply not let it go. I will be in death as I was in life, a force to be reckoned with. Why should Veronica escape the ghosts of her past when I’m forced to be one? I shall not stand for that! I simply shan’t! Thus I’ve decided to follow dear Veronica Sawyer to college, Duke to be exact. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone that she was mediocre enough to be rejected by both Harvard and Yale. Ah, and to think Heather Chandler was seamlessly accepted to both! What a shame I will not get the chance to make college my kingdom as I did Westerburg High! In hindsight, I humbly admit that my methods of ruling didn’t exactly do justice to my leadership abilities, but I was right to be a “mythic bitch”, as they called me. Anyway, seeing that I am a ghost, an ethereal being traveling from the physical world to the underworld as I please, I don’t need an apartment to call my home. Nevertheless, I decided to redecorate one of those abandoned warehouses near campus, a place from which I can spy on Veronica while she deals with classes and flimsy college crushes. Hopefully, none of the said crushes have proved as poorly chosen as Jason Dean, but I wouldn’t expect her to keep the bar too high.  
I would knock, really I would... if I still had the ability to do so. Sadly, being a ghost doesn’t allow me to engage in such physical behaviors. If I were to knock on my dear, dear friend’s dorm room, my hand would go straight through the door and that wouldn’t really serve the purpose of privacy. Not that I value her privacy, mind you, but apparently, as she had the power to kill me, she has also developed the power to shut me out from her mind if I become too much of a nuisance. I can’t figure out how she managed to do that, for a greasy little nobody she sure gets her way a lot. On the other hand, I do have some tricks of my own, such as the one I’m about to take advantage of right now. I concentrate hard and make my voice be heard in her fragile brain. She immediately senses my presence, which is natural considering how strong our bond has always been.  
“Ugh, what do you want, Heather?” she asks, her voice rough and whiny as per usual.   
“This really is not a good time”  
I feel obligated to inform you that whenever I am in her mind, I can feel what she feels and hear her exact thoughts. Well, it seems that now Veronica’s brain is filled with serotonin transmitters, and my marvelous detective skills lead me to believe her current happiness is produced by nothing other than sex.   
“Well isn’t this just great? Have you found yourself another deranged extremist to tend to your needs?”  
“Don’t you fucking speak of him! Now get out of my brain and I’ll come to see you once I’m done!”  
“And what am I supposed to do for the following 45 seconds?” I ask enjoying every moment of her annoyance.  
To that, I don’t get a response. And because I’m in a proper disposition today I ignore her blatant rudeness and make my way to the nearest bench. I take a seat, arranging my skirt as if anyone could see me or if I still had skin to feel the rough wind on and I just stare at the sky. When you’re a ghost you actually get a more intense color palette. I think it has something to do with the fact that your body isn’t here anymore, and you’re just a transparent personification of your soul. Anyway, I try not to dwell on the metaphysical intricacies of death and purgatory and the like and just focus on the sky. It seems bluer, and the pigeons seem more annoying than ever. I think of them almost exactly how I do of Veronica. They’re mediocre and inexplicably purposeless. They can fly yes, but not as high as the praise-worthy birds. They have decent coloring but their dull personality drowns out their whole potential. And one more similarity, they shit on you for no apparent goddamn reason.   
“What’re you doing Heather, wondering about which bird to devour for lunch?” asks Veronica, standing at the dorm’s entrance. I didn’t even sense her coming, and that’s peculiar considering I usually do. She insists on wearing that despicable boho skirt with her usual denim vest, despite the fact that I’ve belittled her for it countless of times.  
“Not at all, only birds roaming the campuses of esteemed universities such as, let’s say, Harvard, could satisfy my hunger” I reply, sporting my most venomous smile.  
To that, she frowns horribly and I am once again grateful for my ability to get under her skin.  
“Just, what do you want?”   
“Nothing in particular... well perhaps being alive again would be nice but you know how bad things always happen to terrific people”. For a moment, she just stands there dumbfounded, an expression which undoubtedly suits her intellect. I am quite aware that no matter how much she hates me or how uncomfortable I make her feel, she will always feel miserable for killing me, even if she didn’t intend to. Even if I happen to leave my wits behind at home, the “you and your maniac high school boyfriend poisoned me in my own bedroom and faked my suicide” will never fail me.  
“Want some ice cream?” she tries changing the subject  
“You know damn well I can’t eat it, Sawyer!”  
“Come on, I’ll tell you all about how it tastes,” she says, an annoying little smile appearing on her face. And despite my most honorable efforts, I can’t help but smile back.

We make our way to the crowded cafeteria and she smiles at people and she says hello to people and of course none of them are aware of my being there. It wasn’t so long ago that nobody dared ignore me and everyone gladly ignored her, but times have changed... a lot has changed. She gets herself two cups of ice cream, one Belgian chocolate, one forest fruits, and happily exchanges a few sentences with the lady at the stand, like it’s so damn easy for her to be likable and nice... which I am obviously not envious of because I deem those characteristics to badly damage a girl’s chances of power and success. We sit at our usual table and although she places the forest fruits ice cream in front of me she knows she’s gonna end up eating it too. I am literally dead and I still care more about my silhouette than she cares about hers. She never really was fit to be a Heather.   
“So what have you been up to since our last rendezvous?” I ask her, just to break that insufferable silence she insists on creating every time we sit together for more than 5 minutes.  
“Um, nothing much”  
“Well come on, Veronica, can’t you throw a dead girlfriend a metaphorical bone?” As I anticipated that makes her feel uneasy and her sense of guilt and duty to me become more apparent.  
“I’ve been writing a lot. I’ve been working on a new story...”  
“Hope it’s not as dreadful as that love story you showed me!” I interrupt her, glee all over my face.  
“I’ve actually been getting a lot of positive feedback from Mister Lewis, he thinks I’m doing a great job and I’m confident he has more expertise than you, Heather.  
“Darling, he may have a degree in Comparative Literature, but no one is as well-read and no one has as good instinct as Heather Chandler! Anyway, what’s this masterpiece about?”  
“Actually I’d rather not tell you yet,” Veronica responds, mimicking self-doubt and shyness to make me back off. But I know better than to believe she is afraid of my opinion and not of something else entirely.  
“Just tell me, Veronica, I’m not gonna go ahead and still your bestseller idea. But while we’re talking about my possible career in the field, say, do you think I’d make a good ghost-writer?”  
She laughs and keeps eating her ice-cream. But she knows me almost as well as I know her, and she knows I’m not done irritating her about this.  
“Is it about murder, I must admit you have quite a lot of insight on the subject!” I continue hitting her until she surrenders.  
“It has some murder, but that’s not the central aspect... it’s more than that” she starts caving, covering her face with one of those cheap pastel scarves.   
“Pray tell!”  
“Ok so don’t be mad and know that I’m telling you this just because I know you won’t stop till I spill, ok?”  
“Fine, go on!” I respond trying to hide the fact that she has sparked my interest.  
“It’s sort of an autobiography disguised as a self-insert novel based on our senior year”  
Well isn’t she just a darling? Does she have the audacity of writing about how I WAS MURDERED in my own house by two insane lovebirds? Is she really planning to just make a profit off my tragedy? She doesn’t get to tell this story; she doesn’t get to even think about it with anything but remorse and self-punishment! ‘Cause that’s what Veronica Sawyer deserves, a lifetime she doesn’t get to enjoy a second of!  
“I’m obviously not going to use real names or real locations, and I know this will be hard for the both of us...”  
“For both of us?” I stand up screaming like I have the power to make the whole dining hall hear me loud and clear. “How dare you, you insufferable skank! How dare you claim my tragedy as your own? How does that fimble brain of yours come up with such slanderous ideas? Are you honestly comparing your failed attempt at high-school romance with my death and my public humiliation as a goddamn suicide victim?”  
She would stand up if she could and she would scream if all the other people couldn’t hear her voice like they can’t hear mine. So, instead, she decides to play dirty, as per usual and starts screaming inside my head.  
“I know what happened to you was horrible and I’ve been blaming myself ever since the moment it happened. That doesn’t give you the right to undermine the pain I felt that year and I’m so sick of having to deal with your gigantic ego even after you fucking died”.  
After she’s done she storms off and leaves both my mind and the cafeteria. The other students and staff don’t really pay much attention to her sudden outburst, probably assuming she’s just sleep-deprived from all that homework they are supposed to give you at this self-proclaimed ivy-league college. I’ll remind you Heather Chandler doesn’t cry, not without a clear objective in mind at least, but at this moment I wish I had control of my body for just one minute so I can release all the rage my ghost form can no longer hold captive.

I make my way out of the campus and through the busy streets of Durham. People have already started decorating for Halloween it seems. I honestly never found the point of that holiday. Why yearn so desperately to dress up as someone else? Doesn’t that just show how little you like yourself? Well, I guess few people have so much to like in themselves as I do. No matter how much I disagree with its principle, it would be nice to experience Halloween as a living person, rather than one of the ghosts everybody dresses up as.  
I finally get to the warehouse, the place I’ve come to call home. It’s empty and grand, flawlessly decorated, obviously, but still, I can’t help but feel so inadequate, like I’m clinging on to a part of me that is metaphorically and physically gone. I bought, well stole rather ‘cause I don’t have any money or ways to actually spend them, a couple of expensive wine bottles that I will never be able to drink. I guilted Veronica into forging the ex-landlord’s signature in order to have hot water I will never be able to bathe in and heat I will never be able to feel. I’m fully aware that everybody saw me as a cold-hearted bitch, but no matter how much I try proving them right, I can’t help but miss the comfort heat used to bring me.  
You can’t really force time to pass by sleeping when you are a ghost. I used do that a lot, no matter how out-of-character it may sound. Whenever I felt like I had no mission or purpose to achieve I would just sneak one of my mom’s sleeping pills and pass out until a new day arrived with a new opportunity to increase my powers. Now I can’t sleep and I can’t actually digest anything to turn off the lights spinning in my head. I decided to spend my time roaming the streets at late hours. It makes me feel relevant, the fact that everybody is sleeping and I’m the only one not bound by the chains of mortality. The best way to describe what I feel is solid Teflon, never bothered, never harassed, not even by my own devious nature. The unfortunate part is that no one else wishes to be like me anymore.


End file.
